Chapter 1

Ichiro has been waiting outside the police station for the better part of ten minutes. For the past five, he’s begun tapping his foot, which did very little to help his outside image. Dressed in a black hoodie, sweating bullets, scanning the area left, right, front and back, he is the picture of a drug addict, waiting to turn himself in. For the umpteenth time, he yanks the phone out of his pocket to check his texts.

That would be lovely! is still the last text he got from Sayuri.

Frankly, he still can’t believe she agreed to have dinner with him on their break. He can’t believe she’s still giving him the time of day either, but he’s had enough time to parse that one out. Maybe the best detective east of Sumida is more down to earth than he’s initially imagined. Or maybe he’s a lot more sociable than he gave himself credit for. After all, every time she swung by the records room, Sayuri could’ve told him to shut his trap whenever he started running his mouth on every topic that sprung to mind.

But no. From trading card game economics to some zen woodworking podcast that Ichiro’s been falling asleep to as of late, Sayuri has never complained about his yammering. In all honesty, she seemed to be enjoying it, her nodding always deliberate, her gaze aglow with interest.

Ichiro gulps. A fresh sheen of sweat slicks his forehead and replaces the dried one on his back. All of a sudden, he’s aware of what he’s about to do: head out to a fancy restaurant with a woman he, for better or worse, considers extremely attractive. Whilst this is most assuredly not a date, he can’t be sure if Sayuri doesn’t consider it one, doesn’t expect it to be. Has he sent the wrong message? Set up the wrong expectations? He doesn’t know, and this unknown makes him want to reignite his old habit of biting his nails.

When his fingertips graze his bottom lip, a light tap falls twice on his shoulder.

“My, how long have you been waiting out here for me?”

There’s something in Sayuri’s voice that both catches him by surprise and puts him ill-at-ease: the airiness, its effortlessly tantalising ring. Ichiro twirls on his heels, almost losing his balance in the process. Now that he is face to face with her once again, he remembers the real reason why he’s actually been so nervous.

Porcelain-pale skin. A sharp-fanged smile. Bright crimson eyes. From the moment he first saw her, Ichiro has been convinced that she might be a vampire.

“Not too long,” he stutters out. “Why?”

“Idle curiosity. You are shivering, though.” She reaches her hand out, touching the back of it to his cheek. “And you are quite cold too. Perhaps we should hurry to the restaurant. Walking gets the blood moving.”

He blinks and nods, then starts down the road. Sayuri slips right behind him.

The fastest path to their destination sees them cutting right through the heart of the neighbourhood, the rundown backstreets. The lights are dim, few and far-between, whilst the moon is hiding behind a ceiling of clouds. Faintly, the city’s ambience echoes all around them: tyres creaking on cooling asphalt, water splashing beneath the sewer grates, wires and clotheslines swishing in the breeze. The world is quiet, a theatre of silhouettes, and Ichiro does not want to be part of its cast tonight.

His senses kick into high gear. The thick, formless dark obscures Sayuri from his side-view. Tuning his ears, he can only hear a single breath, a lone pair of footfalls, the swish of fabric from one pair of jeans: all his own. Ichiro bites his cheek. It’s only now that he realises the danger he might be in.

Vampires are stealthy killers. They lure their victims into the shadows, where they die with one blow, quick, painless, elegant. On his own accord, he walked himself into the place best suited for his demise. His head screws stiffer on his neck. He can only look forward now. He’s too scared to turn around, though he doesn’t know what he’s afraid of most: Sayuri still being with him, or having vanished into the night.

Though, there is still a part of him that wants to give her the benefit of the doubt. Untangling his tongue, he opens his mouth. His voice rasps out of his throat, “Hey, Sayuri.”

“Yes?”

A flinched breath, then a fast one, and finally, a slow one. “I don’t think I’ve asked yet, but how’s work been tonight?”

“Ugh. Busy. I’m working three burglaries, neither of which have any leads. Well, none that the sergeant will let me pursue, at the very least. He wants something ‘more plausible and less fairy tale’, he says. What a square-toes…”

“Square-toes?”

“Oh.” She pauses, half-flustered, half searching for the right word. The size of her vocabulary has always amazed, puzzled him even. “I mean a stickler.”

“Got it. To be honest, I’ve always got a bit of a vibe from him. Sarge strikes me as the kind of guy who likes bossing women around.”

“Do tell.”

“Yeah, I dunno. I always hear him barking when I pass by the briefing room on my way down to the archives. But for the guys, it always feels super mellow. Keep at it, you’ll get him. Don’t worry, he’s not getting away. You’re the best. But with the women – well, you in particular – feels like he’s just got a bone to pick. Well, hurry up, Taira! How is it that he’s not behind bars yet!”

Sayuri chuckles. “Feels like he’s right here with us.”

“Heh. But yeah, he’s just a bit…”

“Antiquated?”

“Sure, let’s go with that. Better than what I had in mind.”

“Now I’m curious.” He senses her grin widening. “Go on then. Out with it.”

“A wrinkly dick.”

Sayuri laughs, a stifled kind of laugh, compressed into a tiny snort and a couple short exhales. The corners of Ichiro’s mouth twitch upwards, for a moment, only to fall flat the next. Though his wisecracks were enough to lighten the mood, their effect is only temporary. Silence falls between them once more, interrupted only by Sayuri’s deep sigh.

Finally, they step onto a well-lit sidewalk, somewhere on a narrow street feeding into the boulevard. Now that he can actually see her face, Sayuri’s concern is obvious. She’s thinking about cold cases, lacking evidence, mounting pressure, all things she shouldn’t be thinking about on her break. At least Ichiro would like her not to. He’d like to reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t. He’s too scared to.

He doesn’t know whether everything will be okay or not, and he doesn’t want to give her false hope. Because if he does, then he’ll have to contend with the fact that he lied, and ask himself why he did that. Why he wanted to get closer to someone he suspects is far more dangerous than the criminals she spends her nights trying to apprehend.

She could actually be a vampire. That’s why he invited her out tonight: to figure that out. No other reason.

“You never told me where we’re going,” Sayuri muses.

Ichiro blinks. “I don’t know either. I heard some guys talking about a new place that’s just opened down in Anagawa. I thought that, uh, maybe we could try it out together.”

“Oh. I see. Very well. Do you know where it is, at least?”

“Should be that one there, if I had to guess.”

It’s not much of a guess, though. There’s only one shopfront where the lights are still on without the shutters drawn: Polino’s.

It looks like a homely spot from the outside – clean and simple, your average family-owned business – and the inside is no different. There’s not much room, but the chipped wooden tables and old, padded chairs look comfier than they should. It does help a lot that the atmosphere is warm and pleasantly scented; the second they step through the door, the aromas of the Mediterranean wrap around them: fresh herbs, tomatoes, hot dough and garlic. Ichiro sneaks a peek at Sayuri. She wrinkles her nose.

They sit before the counter, studying the menu. Ichiro takes all but two seconds to decide on a four-cheese pizza. Sayuri, on the other hand, can’t seem to settle on anything. Her eyebrows furrow in a troubled arch.

“What are you thinking?” Ichiro asks.

“I don’t know… I’m not good with foreign food. I’ll probably have a salad.”

“You on a diet?”

“No.” The edge in her voice could slice through kevlar. “Why do you ask?”

“Uhh, just curious that’s all. I’ve only ever seen you eat tomato soup, so I was wondering if you were vegan or something.”

“Oh. Right. No, I’m not. I just don’t think I could keep down anything else at the moment.”

“Stomach’s giving you grief?”

“... A little bit, yeah.”

Ichiro narrows his eyes, but doesn’t press the issue any further. He tells Sayuri to take a seat if she’s not feeling well, and that he’ll order for the two of them, his treat. Whilst she objects at first, she obliges when Ichiro proposes that she pays next time. If there will even be a next time, he thinks. Though Sayuri will probably make sure of it. She’s not one to forget things, or go against her word.

It helps that she’s not next to him when he goes up to the counter and the owner recognises him as a regular.

When he rejoins Sayuri at the table – she’s picked the one closest to the door – something feels off. She looks drowsy, her face flushed, her gestures sluggish. Though she tries to make small talk, she can only focus on a topic for so long before losing her train of thought. Despite all that, she insists she’s fine. Whether she’s trying to be polite or stop him from prodding, Ichiro doesn’t know. He doesn’t care all that much either.

The food comes before long, the pizza and salad accompanied by two ice-cold waters and a plate of garlic bread on the house. Sayuri’s eyes widen at its sight, then droop at its scent. Ichiro frowns. A part of him, small as it may be, still wants to test out his theory. Limply, he asks Sayuri if she’d like a slice of garlic bread. Her reaction is sudden, firm, yet kindly: “No, thanks. I’m good.”

She’s not good. She was good before, when they were out in the dark, in the fresh air of the night. Now, she looks a couple breaths away from passing out. What does this prove? Not much. There’s not much reason to keep this on.

“Sayuri?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

“Wanna go back to the station? You look like you could use the fresh air.”

She looks at the table. He still has half of his pizza left; she’s barely touched the salad. “You sure? Your food…”

“Don’t mention it. I wasn’t all that hungry, really.”

After a moment’s dazed contemplation, Sayuri nods. Ichiro asks if they can have the leftovers to go. The owner vanishes with their plates, returning soon after with two boxes. Before they get up, Ichiro sneaks a thousand yen underneath the napkin. Good service requires a good tip.

Out of the sultriness of Polino’s, Sayuri perks right back up. Within a minute, she’s talking in full sentences again, and within five, the thought that she could’ve been ill feels like a hallucination, a false memory. His concerns now distant, Ichiro can’t help thinking what to make of this situation. How could someone’s condition be this volatile, what could’ve caused it to worsen so suddenly, recover so quickly? Perhaps there’s some medical reason for it, something he could ask the coroner about. Or perhaps…

Sayuri stops and turns around. The moon slides out of the clouds, blanketing her in a silver glow. They’re back in front of the police station, he realises, the time having slipped right by. “Something wrong?”

There probably isn’t, but with how enigmatic her smile looks, he can’t know for sure. He only has to try and read it for a couple seconds, though. Once Ichiro’s glance becomes a stare, her confidence shrivels. When she finally speaks, it’s like she’s mumbling from inside a blanket cocoon.

“No, I just… I didn’t want to say it where the whole department could hear it, but thanks for inviting me out for dinner. It was nice having someone to talk to. And, uh, sorry about earlier. I don’t know what came over me, really…”

“That’s fine, it was nice –” but before he can finish his sentence, Sayuri is at the top of the stairs.

“I’ll see you around!” she shouts before disappearing inside.

Confusion elapsing, Ichiro can’t help a snicker. If he draws the line on their little outing, he can confidently say he’s learnt close to nothing tonight. All the same, he doesn’t feel like this was a waste of his break. Maybe he’ll invite her out again sometime. Maybe he will see her around. And maybe he’ll finally figure out if she’s a vampire or not.